


tell me who my mouth was made for

by 1000_directions



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Crying During Sex, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 00:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19240240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Clint’s never moved slowly, not one moment of his life. He’s been reckless as long as he can remember, figuring it all out after the fact. He’s never been careful. But Bucky kisses him like he matters, and it changes him. He’s been changing.“I just want to feel you inside me,” Clint whispers, and it feels like the biggest confession of his life, to need something so fucking badly from someone else and to let them know it.





	tell me who my mouth was made for

**Author's Note:**

> my other two mandatory fun day fics were filthy. this one is not. #makeclintcry2k19

“How do you want to do this?” Bucky asks.

Clint’s mind races with so many different responses: smart-ass retorts, vague evasions, stubborn refusals to ask for what he really wants out of this moment.

But he remembers the first time he touched Bucky’s left shoulder, stroking his thumb gently along one of the plates, and he remembers the way that Bucky seemed to come to pieces right in front of him, vulnerable and hungry. Unsure but determined.

 _Do you want me to stop?_ Clint had asked him.

And Bucky had squeezed his eyes shut tight and seemed to fight with himself before he finally whispered, _No. I want you to keep going._

And Clint learned later that no one had ever touched that arm gently before, that Bucky wasn’t convinced he was allowed to be treated kindly, that he was worried about hurting Clint or ruining the first good thing he’d had in a long, long time. But Bucky had wanted more, and he asked for it, even though it was hard.

They’ve been dancing around this for months. Clint’s mouth is worn out and swollen from kissing, and he has permanent faint purple bruises on his right hip from Bucky’s metal fingers. They haven’t had sex, and they haven’t put it into words yet, but...Clint thinks they’re in love. He’s pretty sure they’re in love. He can’t imagine that either of them would let someone get this close otherwise.

And now they’re in Bucky’s bed, and Bucky’s propped up on his elbows looking down at Clint, and his hair is falling around his face, and Clint reaches up and tucks the loose locks behind his ear with a tender hand, and Bucky turns his head slightly to press a warm kiss to Clint’s palm, and his hair slips loose again, and Clint doesn’t care.

How does he want to do this?

Clint’s never moved slowly, not one moment of his life. He’s been reckless as long as he can remember, figuring it all out after the fact. He’s never been careful. But Bucky kisses him like he matters, and it changes him. He’s been changing.

“I just want to feel you inside me,” Clint whispers, and it feels like the biggest confession of his life, to need something so fucking badly from someone else and to let them know it. To give Bucky that power over him.

But Bucky is good and careful, and he just nods, smiling faintly. And he ducks his head close to Clint’s, breathes slow and even against his lips before he kisses him, gentle, gentle, and Clint’s mouth falls open, and he lets himself be kissed.

It’s like a dream, the way they slowly shed their clothing, the way Bucky reveals himself to Clint and then unwraps him like a present, careful, like he’s determined to save the fancy paper. Bucky’s lush mouth explores Clint’s skin, and Clint keeps his eyes shut and holds his body still, and he tries not to whimper as Bucky kisses the side of his neck, the backs of his knees, the knobs of his ankles, high up on his inner thighs.

He’s never been treated so precious before, and he’s not sure he can stand it.

Bucky takes his time opening up Clint, slick fingers exploring him, stroking him as gently on the inside as they do on the outside. Bucky’s more careful than necessary, and part of Clint wants to protest, to scream _I can take it, just get on with it, just do it already before you change your mind_. But that’s the old Clint, so sure he was about to be left at any moment, even this moment. Always so willing to put his own safety last for someone else’s pleasure. He doesn’t have to be that old Clint anymore. He spreads his legs a little more and breathes through it, and he lets Bucky be gentle with him. 

“Let me know,” Bucky says eventually, lining himself up to push into Clint, and he doesn’t finish the thought, and Clint’s mind goes haywire with possibility. If it’s good, if it hurts, if he wants more, if he wants different. He thinks Bucky would want to know all of it. He thinks Bucky just wants to _know_.

So when Bucky pushes into him, when Clint sees the look on his face, the tension and the ecstasy and the unbearable tenderness that pervades everything he does, when he feels Bucky’s body enter his own body, pressure but no pain because Bucky took so much care, when it all hits him at once, he means to tell it to Bucky in words, to look at this beautiful man and let him know what this moment means to him.

But the words don’t come. He looks up at Bucky, and he blinks, and his jaw goes slack, and his mind is racing one moment and blank the next.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, and his brow furrows with worry, and no. _No_ , it’s perfect, it’s so much but it’s _perfect_ , and Bucky shouldn’t worry.

“Don’t stop,” Clint breathes, and he thumbs at the wrinkle in Bucky’s brow, and then he takes his face in both hands, gentle, like he’s holding something precious and breakable, even though Bucky is the strongest person he’s ever known. “Kiss me,” Clint says, and he’s already trying to lift his head and pull Bucky’s down.

And Bucky bows his head and presses his lips to Clint’s, on his mouth like a prayer, and the movement forces him deeper into Clint’s body. And Clint cries out and wraps one leg and then the other around Bucky’s hips, holding him deep and sure. He feels Bucky throbbing inside of him, hot, molten, perfect.

Bucky’s body settles heavily onto Clint’s. Clint’s mouth is kissed, his chin, his jaw, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose. Some of his skin is freckled, some is scraped and injured, some is bumpy, scarred, hairy, smooth. All of his skin is equal under Bucky’s generous mouth, and Clint can hardly stand to be treated so lovingly.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels Bucky’s careful thumbs sweeping under his eyes.

“Baby?” Bucky says hesitantly. “Clint? Are you okay? Did I….?”

“You’re perfect,” Clint says, and his voice is thin and wet, and he blinks his eyes open. Through his tears, he sees the concern on Bucky’s face, the fear, and he touches his index finger to Bucky’s full lower lip. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s good. It’s a lot.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, and the worry on his face is heartbreaking, especially because it’s so unnecessary. Clint doesn’t know how to be cared for this way. He sees the tension in all of Bucky’s muscles, the way he is straining to hold himself still, to hold back his own pleasure for Clint’s sake, and he knows, he _knows_ that he is never going to find anyone else who cares for him this much.

“Please keep going,” Clint says. “Baby, please. You asked how I want it, and I want it like this.”

Clint cranes his neck, surges up to meet Bucky’s mouth, and he kisses him hungry, messy, and then sweet. He gentles his mouth, rubs his lips back and forth over Bucky’s with a careful friction. And when Bucky starts to move inside him again, it sends pleasure down his spine like a trail of slow, sweet honey, his bones melting away to sap.

He feels like he’s floating out of his body, unmoored, like the weight of Bucky on top of him is the only thing keeping him here. And when Bucky gets a hand around him, it’s almost like an afterthought. Like he’d forgotten that this was building towards something.

His tears are wet and hot as they run down his face, but he keeps blinking past them, doesn’t want to spend a second of this not seeing Bucky, not seeing the beautiful grace of him.

“I love you,” he whispers, just before he comes. He didn’t mean to say it, but he’s not sorry. Bucky has wrung everything out of him, his tears, his orgasm, his feelings. He’s empty inside, and everything is outside now. Every bit of him is on display.

Bucky doesn’t answer with words, but Clint feels the way his body tenses, his dick flexing deep inside of Clint, and he comes with a quiet groan. And Clint runs his gentle fingers up and down over Bucky’s back, feels the play of his muscles, the thin sheen of sweat on his velvety skin. He feels the planes of him, the bumps, the scars and the strength and the softness, and he loves every piece.

Bucky’s eyes are wet around the corners. He kisses gently under each of Clint’s eyes, and when he kisses Clint’s mouth, there is salt on his tongue.

“I love you, too,” Bucky says finally, voice trembling with emotion, and through his tears, Clint smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/185633793524/title-tell-me-who-my-mouth-was-made-for-link-ao3)


End file.
